


Fuck the Zombies (Please don't, that's disgusting)

by San121



Series: Reading Inserts [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Despite saying complete it's not complete, F/F, F/M, Prompt Based, Send in prompts for Resident Evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:11:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/San121/pseuds/San121
Summary: This is a request driven, prompt driven Resident Evil x Reader Insert. Most reader inserts will be female, but I will do male by request.





	1. Medbay Panic (Chris x Alpha team Medic!Reader)

It took you a few months, but here you are. The medic of Alpha team, the highest ranking team of STARS after two years working with Bravo team. While you are proud to have earned your role on Alpha team, you’re still nervous about your place on the team. Having only met Barry Burton and Albert Wesker, the Weapons Specialist and the Alpha team’s Captain respectively, you don’t really know how to be helpful. Like now, you’re arguing with Captain Wesker over needing to do blood work as part of the routine checkup.

“If I can’t get a baseline understanding of you at your healthiest, how can I help you when something affects your blood?” You huff, your hands on your hips as you try to stare the tall man down. Captain Wesker doesn’t even take off his glasses, simply raising an eyebrow at you.

“I am certain I can tell you what I need should the occasion ever occur,” he replies to you. You open your mouth to snap at him when a man bursts into the room, looking pale and sickly. While you turn to look at him with surprise, barely noticing Captain Wesker slide out of the room, the man stumbles over to the room’s trashcan and retches into it. Without a moment’s hesitation, you hurry over to him, rubbing his back while mentally cataloguing his symptoms. His skin is pale, his hands tremble minutely, feeling cold to the touch despite the light sheen of sweat, and a tightness in his jaw that indicates he’s been clenching his jaw. He’s getting sick because of stress, okay, that’s easy enough to handle.

“Hey, come on. Let’s get you to the cot,” You softly tell him, gently pulling at his arm. The man follows, wobbling and unsteady until he drops onto the cot. Once you situate him onto the semi-comfortable cot, you draw the curtains and order, “Stay here. You need to take a nap and I won’t let you leave for the next twenty minutes.”

“But-work-” The man croaks around a raw throat, only for you to give him the glare you perfected while dealing with your younger siblings. He pouts and crosses his arms, but still closes his eyes, obeying your orders. Sliding out of the small space you made for him, you turn back to the medicines and bandages, trying to plan out how to get the blood sample required to check health from Captain Wesker. After about five minutes of organizing and re-organizing, you stop at the sound of a body rising from a cot, sighing through your nose before spinning around to fix the man with a glare. He stops, staring back at you owlishly.

“Get back on that cot,” she commands, pointing back at the cot. The man frowns and straightens his back, attempting to tower over you.

“I’m Chris Redfield, the Alpha team’s Point Man,” he introduces himself, probably trying to make you back down with the mention of Alpha team. Rolling your eyes, you reply, “And I’m [Name], Alpha team’s medic and the one who knows how to handle what had you puking in the bucket. Now sit your ass back down on the cot and relax for about twenty minutes.” Chris blinks, gaping at you before shuffling back to the cot, a pout on his face. Sighing, you pull over a chair and sit down in front of him, leaving the two of you in an awkward silence.

“So, you’re our medic,” Chris starts.

“And you’re our point man,” you tease, your mouth twitching in to a smile as he blushes and sputters, looking away from your amused expression.

“Didn’t think you’d be pretty,” you hear him mumble. You choke on a breath, watching as he tenses up and blushes even more. The door opens to a concerned looking Jill as you cough and Chris attempts to back space.

“That is- I mean- You see, that- I-!” he fumbles as your own face heats up and Jill leans against the door way, amused by the scene she has walked in on.

“Captain Wesker wants you to take the rest of the day off, Chris,” Jill tells him after letting him flounder about, flailing nervously, as you watch him with large eyes.

“YES, THAT’S WHAT I’LL DO!” he yells, jumping up from the cot and running out of the room, leaving you and Jill in the medical bay, only to trip and run face first into a wall. He quickly yells out, “I’M OKAY!” before sprinting further from the room. You blink at the open door way, past Jill, with a bright blush high on your face.

“So, what did I miss?” Jill asks, striding over to the cot to sit down. You slowly turn to her and give her a shy smile.

“Well…” 

* * *

 

“So, you made a fool of yourself to [Name],” Jill comments the next day, sitting in Chris’ chair when he arrived. Chris groans, dropping the bag he brought with him to the floor.

“Can you not remind me of how I messed up? It’s too early,” Chris complains as Barry walks up behind the two.

“It’s never too early to make fun of you, Chris,” Barry teases, ruffling the younger man’s hair while Jill chuckles. Chris huffs, swatting at Barry’s hand, only to get a laugh from the Weapons Expert. You walk up behind them, and clear your throat, startling the three.

“I’ll need you three to take a physical within the next two weeks before moving on to clear you for service,” you tell them, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Chris.

“Aw, hell. Do we have to?” Barry play whines, draping himself over you like a sloth over a tree branch. You sigh and roll your eyes, shaking your head as you gently push Barry off you. Turning to Chris, you stick out your hand. After a moment of confused looking, he grasps you hand, allowing you to shake it.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Chris Redfield. I’m [Full Name] and I’ll be your medic officer from now on. Let’s do our best,” you introduce yourself. He blinks down at you before smiling, nodding while adding, “It’s nice to officially meet you too.” Letting go of his hand, you turn to Jill and Barry, give the two a nod, before heading toward Captain Wesker’s office, in another attempt to get him to perform a physical. Chris watches after you, an awed look on his face before Barry starts chuckling.

“What is it, Barry?” Chris asks. Jill replies for Barry, “You’ve got some drool leaking out, Chris.”

“I DO NOT!”


	2. Sick Power (Wesker x Alpha Team Medic!Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A different Medic!Reader than Chris'. Also, am I the only one confused as to why Alpha Team didn't have a medic when they went to the mansion? Like, what would have happened if Bravo Team was just injured and Rebecca couldn't handle all the injuries? I don't think any of Alpha Team's members could have been helpful.

Ever since you could comprehend what makes people sick, you’ve been intrigued by the various bacteria and viruses that attack the human body at a microscopic level. The very fact that humans could survive bullets and knives and nuclear weaponry, only to be laid low by a simple cold fascinated you on a deep emotional level. To learn more, you forced your disdain and disgust of most humans to lay wait behind a polite mask of an altruistic, concerned doctor. Over the years, the mask has frayed and thinned due to the plethora of stupid, self-entitled, spoiled shits that insist to be better than you, to know more than you, only to fail and blame you for the failure. Blessedly, during one of the occasions where your work is properly accreted to you, Captain Albert Wesker of STARS Alpha Team was looking for a new recruit to fill in as a medical officer. To be so close to viruses and bacteria found on corpses and murder victims, you jumped at the opportunity. Eventually, leading you here, in STARS private labs, looking at a slowly regenerating tissue sample with an expanding bacterium fortifying the tissue’s structure.

“Interesting,” you mumble, looking through the microscope at the sample of the resent murder victim. These late night observation sessions have given you a large amount of new data to look into, especially with the recent string of murders. The bacteria under the microscope is vaguely familiar, Staphylococcus if you remember correctly (and you do), but it has been mutated by something from the killer. Something either in the killer’s system, or was left over from something the killer once had.

“But, what is it?” you huff, pulling away from the microscope to look over the notes you have been taking over the past week. The lab door creaks open loudly, startling you. No one was supposed to still be in the building, however, in the door was is Captain Wesker, his sunglasses still on despite the late hour.

“Doctor, why are you still here?” he demands, stepping into the room, allowing the door to close behind him. You fidget nervously, avoiding eye contact with your superior as he prowls toward your work area.

“I was looking at some bacteria from the latest murder victim, Sir,” you explain, stepping to the side to let Captain Wesker peer through the microscope. He glances at the microscope before moving closer to you, startling out a soft squeak (holy hell, he’s attractive and smart and you have never had someone you viewed as your equal before him, shit, abort).

“And what have you found, Doctor?” he asks quietly, towering over you. Trembling, you look up at him with wide eyes, blurting out, “The bacteria has mutated due to something in the killer. An alien bacteria or a virus, perhaps.” The Captain moves closer to you, trapping you between his arms as he leans down to ask, “Is it possible to identify what mutated the bacteria? What virus the killer had?” You tense, your mind flying into overdrive as the man’s question plays over in your mind. Things move closer together, making an interesting picture, one you wouldn’t mind being a part of.

“It depends, if you are willing to share what you know about the virus, then I can make an antibody that will act as a vaccine to the killer’s virus,” you inform him. Captain Wesker grins down at you, causing a shudder of aroused fear to trail down your spine.

“I believe we can achieve much with your help, Doctor,” he tells you softly, taking a step back from you to look down at you. You smile up to him, correcting him, “Please, call me [Name], Captain.”

“Then call me Albert in return,” he orders, his smile growing as another shiver of pleasure courses down your back. This, you decide, is the best decision you’ve made in a very long time.


	3. Huh... (Chris x ex-Military Amputee!Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I respect amputees, who go about their lives as if nothing changed. A big reason for the reader to be an amputee in this one is that Chris' soulmate would have to be someone who takes what life gives them and moves on, someone who won't let the past hold them back. Also, LC9s are small handguns that don't seem to have a big kickback (I don't really know, as I was looking up hand guns women can wield single handed).

Once you learnt how to read, your soul mark has annoyed and confused you. The word “ma’am” doesn’t fit you in any sense of the word and, according to your father, who had been the doctor to help bring you into this world, your mark was on your thigh at birth, meaning you are the younger of your bond. It’s an absolute pain to think about. 

* * *

 

Going through public schooling, you find yourself impatient as close friends and potential partners pair up, giggling and sighing over words that have been said. You look on in a combination of longing (if only you could find your own partner) and disgust (if only these couples could _stop making out in the middle of the hall way so you can get to fucking class on time_ ), idly wondering when that will be you. Once you graduate, you put your soul mark out of your mind to focus on the military. You take pride in serving your country, in making the place you call home safe to live in. Almost five years pass as you serve as a soldier, until an accident severs your left arm from your body.

“A combination of PTSD and shock,” your therapist tells you after you are honorably discharged. You almost don’t go back, until the woman mentions in a voice mail to set up a meeting, “At least you still have a soulmate somewhere. They should be worth living for, if only to meet them.” Realizing she’s right, you continue your therapy to be worthy of whoever your soulmate is. Even if their first words are out of pity, you refuse to let that be the only reason they stay with you. 

* * *

 

Two years later find you in a bookstore you opened up, with the help of some old military buddies. Restocking the shelves, you pause at the sound of a wet slam against the main store window. Turning around, you stumble back at the sight of a decomposing corpse clawing at the window.

“What the FUCK?” you yelp, your hand moving to your Ruger LC9 when it’s head explodes due to a bullet that gets caught in the bulletproof glass.

“JESUS!” you cry, pressing against the bookshelf, staring at the gore in shock as someone enters the store. Turning, you see a broad man with short brown hair enter the shop, looking relieved to see you. When he takes a step toward you, your hand goes back to your LC9, causing him to stop and raise his hands in an attempt to seem harmless (a little hard to do when he’s holding a fucking _assault rifle_ ).

“ **Don’t worry, ma’am, you’re safe with me** ,” he promises you, not really noticing as you tense. The words on your thigh _burns_ , and you want to say something- anything!- when a zombie drags itself inside and toward your soulmate. Without really thinking, you finally draw your LC9 and fire twice, both shots striking the zombie in the head. Your soulmate startles, turning to stare at the corpse behind him before turning back to you with awe in his face.

“ **Fuck zombies, am I right**?” you joke, a small smirk crossing your face as you holster your gun. He opens and closes his mouth before blurting, “Don’t have sex with the zombies.” You blink, startled by his reaction, before chuckling. His face turns red, muttering curses under his breath before straightening up, introducing himself, “I’m Chris Redfield, of the BSAA. I’m here to escort you to a safe zone.”

“I’m [Full Name] and I can handle myself, but I appreciate the help,” you tell him, patting the LC9 on your hip. He looks at the loose sleeve on your left before nodding and looking up to your eyes.

“I’ll stay on your left if you keep us safe on the right,” he tells you. You blink again before smiling easily, holding out your hand for a shake.

“Deal,” you agree, waiting for Chris to grasp your hand. He reaches out, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward him, crashing his mouth against yours.

“You have no idea how many times my sister teased me about my words,” he tells you once you pull away, a little out of it from the _want_ in the kiss. You find yourself blinking again before sputtering, “Teased? At least you weren’t confused about if you’d be an old lady despite being the younger soulmate.” He flinches and gives you an apologetic smile.

“Looks like we both caused each other trouble,” he chuckles sheepishly. You can’t help but laugh too, shaking your head before heading toward the shop’s back entrance.

“Once this is all over, let’s go out on a date. I wanna get to know you before we do that whole soulmate thing,” you tell him, unlocking the back door and stepping back to draw your gun. He gives you a small smirk, adjusting his own gun.

“I think that can be arranged,” he agrees before leading you out into the zombie infested streets. You grin, thinking, ‘Huh… I already like him… Good.’


	4. The Good Fight (Chris x DSO!Reader) Request by HeraldOfAndraste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was requested a while ago by HeraldOfAndraste. Summary: DSO!Reader is in a recon mission when the BSAA blows her cover. However, the mission isn't over as Leon needs help with BOWs, leaving the Reader and Chris to go after him.

You keep your smile in place even as the target tries to feel you up. While externally, you’re playing the pretty dumb waitress, internally, you’re cursing up a storm and reminding yourself how easy it would be to break the half-drunken man. With Leon going after the remaining weapons of the pharmaceutical company once known as Umbrella, your job was to corner the sick son of a bitch who was trying to sell them to the highest bidder. The man, one Gregory Jones, is currently trying to look up the knee length skirt you wear for your disguise (not that he would get to see anything, with the bike shorts you pulled on so you could ride your Ducati to this place).

“More wine!” he slurs, motioning at you- or, more accurately, your boobs. Putting on that fake smile, you walk out of the private dining room with a promise of, “Right away, sir.” Once around the corner, you let your smile drop with a soft groan.

“Fucking hell. Next time, I’m going after the weapons,” you grumble, even though you know your specialty is recon and tech, leaving you to take these jobs for the DSO. Striding toward the wine rack, you look for the most common wine before shrugging and grabbing a red merlot and turn to head back to the private room. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a semi-familiar BSAA patch and let out a soft curse. It’s likely they are here for your target, probably to make him tell them where the weapons are, but you need more time before you can pin him on the weapons. If he leaves within the next twenty minutes, the groups with the warrants would have to pull back, and the slippery son of a whore would just skip out of court with not even a slap to the wrist.

“Shit,” you hiss, hurrying to the room while attempting to appear as professionally stupid as physically possible. Idly, you can’t help but wonder if Chris Redfield is with the small group. From how Claire and Leon described him, the man is a giant teddy bear to allies and a fucking grizzly against those who are a threat. You’ve never really thought you had a type until Leon pulled up a selfie he managed to pull a beefy brunette into, the other man looking cutely awkward and confused. Stopping just outside the room, you shake your head. Now isn’t the time to be fantasizing about the Commanding Officer of the BSAA, now is where you pull a little more information from your (hopefully) wasted target. Pulling the smile back on, you re-enter the private room, making a bit of a show about getting the wine. The man grabs at the wine (or your ass, you can’t really tell), whining and demanding something you can’t quite decipher from a combination of his accent and the drunken slurring he is doing.

“Please calm down, sir. I’ll pour your drink now,” you assure him, uncorking the wine and leaning over to pour out the wine. Abruptly, a pair of BSAA operatives enter the room, their guns unholstered as they snap, “Gregory Jones, you’re under arrest.” Jones jumps, nearly splashing wine on to the shirt you’re wearing, bleary eyes blinking up at the men.

“Wha’ right d’you haf ta ‘rest me?” he slurs, swaying from side to side as he drunkenly clamors for his holstered H&K USP. Quickly, you grab the gun, flipping off the safety and pointing it straight at his forehead.

“DSO currently has a warrant to look through both your apartment and home, a separate warrant for your multiple cars and my partner is going after the weapons we were able to track from your money exchange. Hands behind your back, you piece of shit,” you huff, still pissed that you had to reveal your hand so soon. Jones stares up at you with a confused look on his face, even as you flip him over and handcuff his hands behind his back. The two BSAA operatives are looking at you in shock as you easily pull the drunk to his feet. Turning to the men, you shove Jones toward them while pulling out your communicator.

“Please give me some good news, Hannigan. The BSAA made me drop the act early,” you huff, raising an eyebrow as the taller of the two men hand Jones off to the smaller man. The taller man, built like a brick house that you wouldn’t mind plowing you on one of your off days, turns to you with a bit of a frown as you listen to Hannigan type at the computer in front of her. The sound of soft cursing reaches you, making your gut drop.

“Unfortunately, Leon called in. Get your butt to the factory, now,” she tells you, the sound of a keyboard filtering through the communicator. Groaning, you brush past the BSAA members, heading to your motorcycle.

“Wait!” Someone calls to you, causing you to pause and turn around. The taller man jogs up to you, his hand on the assault rifle strapped over his shoulder.

“I’m coming with you,” he tells you, his eyes practically daring you to turn him down. Huffing, you kick a leg over the motorcycle, grabbing your helmet and holding out your spare for him to put on.

“Then hurry up, handsome,” you tell him, tossing the helmet at him when he doesn’t move toward it fast enough for your taste. He fumbles with it, before pulling it on and climbing on your Ducati Superbike 848 EVO (the perks of working with the government definitely includes the toys). Once he wraps his arms around your waist, you rev the engine before taking off. You smirk at the sound of the man yelping, feeling a little sadistically glad for this little bit of retribution for making you blow your cover early. Arriving at the factory, you scowl upon realizing it is hauntingly silent.

“Well, shit. This isn’t good,” You groan, pulling off your helmet. The man behind you pulls of his helmet, glancing between you and the factory.

“I take it your partner is in there?” he asks. You groan again, leaning back to grab your Glock 22 and quickly checking both the ammo and the safeties.

“How many BOWs have you gone up against, sir?” you ask, nodding as everything is in place on your Glock. He slides off your Ducati as you grab the five spare magazines in your saddlebag, frown still in place.

“I was in Raccoon City,” he tells you. You stop hooking the magazines onto your belt, turning and blinking up at the man. You feel like an idiot as you realize the man is extremely familiar. He’s Chris Goddamn Redfield, the man you have inappropriate thoughts about and is the Commanding Officer of the BSAA.

“Right,” you croak, clearing your throat before continuing the point you were going to make, “well, you should recall that BOWs only go quiet for two reasons. One, if they’re dead. Two, if…”

“They’re setting up a trap,” Chris finishes, nodding as you finally slide off the Ducati, heading toward the door. The two of you share a look before nodding and entering, cautious of any noise you hear. Activating the small flashlight on your necklace, the two of you walk through the factory, following what you hope is Leon’s path. Wandering through the factory, you come across a door that is slightly ajar. Turning toward Chris, you wave the flashlight up and down, signaling him to follow you as you slowly enter the room. Inside, you nearly curse at the sight of Leon surrounded by Lickers and Hunters. Glad that you’re on the upper deck, you aim at the Licker that lunges at Leon, firing and managing to kill it with one bullet.

“For once in your Goddamn life, Kennedy, don’t go into a big room with BOWs on your ass,” you snap, firing twice more and killing a Hunter. Leon glances up at you, a cocky grin on his face as Chris joins you on the catwalk.

“Well, if I knew you were coming, I would have gotten more to chase me, [Last Name],” Leon calls back, pulling out his service knife and stabbing a Licker in the head. You huff, firing twelve more times, killing three Lickers and three Hunters, before dropping the empty magazine and reloading. Chris fires beside you, mowing down an entire row of Lickers and Hunters with his assault rifle. Once the room is cleared of Lickers and Hunters (which took you another two full magazines, leaving you with three full magazines. 45 bullets left), you jump off the cat walk, rolling as you land, before storming over to Leon.

“What the hell were you thinking? Jesus, Leon, I was worried about you,” you snap, holstering your Glock as you get into his personal space. Leon leans back, his hands up with a cocky smirk.

“Sorry ‘bout that [Name]. But, we still have to clear out the rest of the factory,” he tells you, glancing over your shoulder as Chris lands behind you. Leon nods at the brunet, leaving you to huff and survey the room. As you look around the room, you over hear the two men talking about you.

“That’s [Name]?”

“Yep. I told you, she can handle herself.”

“Didn’t think I’d meet her while she was working, though. Does she usually take the-”

“Recon missions? Yeah. She wanted to be an actress as a kid, so acting comes easily to her.”

“Impressive.” Your mouth quirks at the feeling of an appreciative look aimed at you. Looking at the hall Leon must have lead the BOWs through, the claw marks and blood spray indicating that Leon took out a few more before making it to the room. A roar echoes from further in the factory, startling all three of you.

“…Leon. What the fuck was that,” you intone, listening as something storms around whatever room it is in.

“A brood mother-ish Tyrant. The thing keeps spewing out Hunters and Lickers, luckily they were in pods for a bit, letting me attack the Tryrant-thing,” Leon explains, reloading the Wing Shooters as he looks down the hallway. Chris adjusts the assault rifle slightly as you turn to Leon, glowering at him.

“And this wasn’t important to mention?” you sigh, glaring as he shrugs in reply, looking sheepish. Chris yelps, startling you and Leon to turn in time to see Chris fall due to a tentacle around his ankle. Without really thinking, you pull out Special Forces combat knife and stab the tendril, severing it from whatever grew the damn thing. An inhuman shriek rose from where the Tyrant was as you and Leon both pull Chris up.

“I think you pissed it off,” Leon comments, letting go of Chris as soon as the other man was standing on his own. You give your partner a deadpan look before looking over Chris for injuries (and maybe a different reason because _hello_ ).

“Thanks,” you hear Chris huff at you, teasing a smile out of you. You open your mouth to reply when a tendril wraps around your ankle and drags you down the hall, only giving you enough time to shout “SHIT!” before Chris and Leon blur past you. As you slide down the hall, you draw your Glock and fire a shot at whatever has you. At the sound of a snarl followed by a roar, your gut drops as you realize what has you. Your fear is confirmed once you’re dragged into a room and held up by your leg over the Tyrant Brood Mother, looking around the room in horror at the eggs all around.

“Well, fuck,” you whisper, looking for a way to escape. The Tyrant sniffs at her, growling low in its throat. Shifting, you aim your Glock at its head and fire twice at its head, startling it enough to drop you. Spinning in the air as best you can, you land on your chest hard enough to knock the wind out of you temporarily.

“[Name]! Are you okay?” you faintly hear Leon call as you wobble onto your feet.

“Fine!” You call back, raising your Glock to aim at the pulsating mass of nerves and muscle near the Tyrant’s head, firing five bullets and hissing as only three made contact with the vulnerable flesh. The Tyrant Brood Mother roars in pain, swinging its twisted arm at your head. Dropping down and rolling away, you aim and fire again, another four rounds which, luckily, all found their mark on the Tyrant. The sound of rapid fire sounded from the hallway you were dragged down, indicating Chris at least followed you, as you gasp while the Tyrant slams into you with a snarl, sending you sprawling onto your back.

“Shit!” you hiss, scrambling back as the Brood Mother opens its mouth toward you, rows of sharp teeth gleaming at you in the low light. Just as it lunges, Chris barrels into it, sending the creature flying into the far wall.

“Are you alright, [Name]?” Chris asks, holding his hand out to you. You take it eagerly, allowing yourself to be pulled up, huffing, “I’m alright.” Looking up, you blink at the lack of distance between the two of you, Chris looking down at you with some combination of respect and concern. You blink, averting your eyes, suddenly feeling shy under his scrutiny, mumbling, “Let’s take care of the Tyrant.”

“Right,” he agrees, shifting his assault rifle as the Brood Mother staggers toward you, hissing and snarling. You raise your Glock, aiming at the mass of nerves and muscle again before emptying your clip into it, grinning maliciously as it wails in pain. With a snarl, it lunges at you again, this time however, you roll to the side, switching magazines during the motion as Chris jumps back and sprays the Tyrant with rapid fire. It roars again, swinging its arms again, this time at Chris, who was still focused on the nerves.

“Look out!” You yell, running and tackling Chris, both going down with a grunt as the arm swings overhead. Seeing a grotesque eye appear in its abdomen, you grab Chris’ assault rifle and fire, yelping as Chris switched positions with you when the Brood Mother roars and explodes. Blood and guts are strewn everywhere, the sick smell of rotting meat permeate the air and make you gag a little as Chris is splashed with the dark red substance. For a minute, the two of you lay like that, gasping for air as you look each other in the eye. Finally, you start to slide out from under Chris, causing him to try to hop off, only to fall onto you and your stomach. You huff, dropping back to the floor as Leon finally joins you two.

“You two okay? Or do I have to make Claire and Sherry cry?” he jokes, the relief obvious in his voice despite the joke. Without looking at him, you raise your arm and flip him the bird while Chris huffs out a soft laugh, pushing himself off you.

“I hope you trip and fall into this shit,” you moan, rising from the floor. Turning to Chris, you hold out your hand, giving him what you hope is a reassuring smile. He looks up at you, grabbing your hand and letting himself get pulled up. Once he’s on his feet, he pulls you close and asks, “After I grab a shower and file the report, do you want to go out? I know a nice bar in town.” You blink up at him, before really smiling at him, tilting your head to the side.

“How about I give you my number and we make plans for the weekend?” You offer instead, ignoring Leon’s sputtering. Chris perks up, a small smile crossing his face as he nods.

“That sounds like a plan. Let’s get out of here, first,” Chris points out. You open your mouth to agree when Leon groans, “Nooooo, I don’t want to owe Claire money.”


	5. The Good in Goodbye (Piers x BSAA!Reader) Requested by HeraldofAndraste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time trying to write Angst and I made myself sad. Yay! Italics are flashbacks.

Seven months. It’s been seven months since they lost you. Piers stares out the window, his mouth pressed into a thin line as the scenery blurs past. The mission was more important, you had insisted after rubble separated you from Piers and Chris. You’d rejoin them soon, you swore before they went after the j’avo that shrieked further in the building. Only, you hadn’t met up with them, you didn’t keep your promise for once in your life. Instead, Piers found your dog tags on a corpse before evacuating the building as it collapses from the fight against a heavily mutated j’avo.

“Piers,” Chris calls, pulling him from his thoughts. Looking up, Piers sees the building that is where their intel tells them that the person who made this batch of virus is hiding. Exiting the car, Piers glares at the building.

* * *

 

_“If you keep looking like that, your face’ll freeze,” you teased, bending down to be face to face with the crouching Piers. At seven years old, he didn’t really believe that but wasn’t willing to risk it. You laughed as Piers stuck his tongue out at you instead of replying._

* * *

 

“Let’s go, Piers,” Chris calls, heading toward the building, his assault rifle in hand already. Piers follows closely, his grip tight on his own rifle. The door falls after a single kick from Chris, collapsing in half from the rot and force. Switching on their flashlights, the two head into the building. A few j’avo zombies lunge at them, only to be shot down quickly as they enter the main section of the building.

* * *

 

_“This would have been helpful during the bravery test in high school, huh?” you joked, looking over your gun._

_“Would you have still screamed the whole way through, though?” Piers joked back, laughing when you pout and bump into him. Chris shook his head at the two of you, chuckling slightly himself._

* * *

 

The building feels empty, rotting and abandoned, setting Piers on edge.

“Do you think we were given false information, Captain?” he asks, looking nervously at Chris. Chris grits his teeth and shakes his head.

“Our intel said this is the right place, just be ready for anything,” he orders. Piers nods, adjusting the gun when a noise startles them.

* * *

 

_“Why do we go toward the spooky, fucked up sounds? Why not just play some soft jazz and lull these assholes to sleep?” you asked, even as you followed Chris with Piers behind you. Piers chuckled while Chris glanced over his shoulder with a smirk._

_“And what song would we play?” he asked. You paused, before admitting, with a straight face, “I’ve got Luther Vandross’ So Amazing on my phone. Pretty sure that’ll work.”_

* * *

 

Raising his gun, Chris calls, “Who’s there? Show yourself!” Piers raises his own gun, narrowing his eyes as the sound, which he now recognizes as footsteps, gets closer. Once the being walks into the light, Piers nearly drops his gun while Chris lowers his in horror.

“No,” Piers hisses as you stare coldly at them, a white blouse and black pants on instead of the BSAA standard armor they last saw you in. Reluctantly, Chris raises his gun again.

“[Name], what are you doing? Are you the cause for this out break?” Chris demands, aiming at you. Your head snaps toward him, focusing on Chris with an almost predator-like gaze, but remain silent. Piers lets go of his gun, letting it drop to his hip as he takes a step toward you. You turn your gaze to Piers and he almost curses, instead of your (e/c) eyes, he sees vibrant red eyes turn on him.

“Who did this to you?” Piers whispers, his eyes meeting yours. You cock your head to the side, before pulling out a gun. Chris and Piers dive to the side as you open fire, barely flinching at the recoil.

* * *

 

_“What the fuck is with recoil?” you groaned, back pressed against Piers’ chest. He blushed and looked at the target, attempting to stop himself from looking down your shirt._

_“Well, it’s a gun,” Piers offered, looking at the close grouping your shots made. You laugh, rocking up onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to his chin._

_“No shit, babe. Not what I meant though,” you huffed, grinning while reloading the gun. Piers chuckled at you as you raised the gun again._

* * *

 

 “Dammit,” Chris growls, peering around his cover only to flinch at the rain of bullets you fire at him. Piers breaks cover, running toward you while you focus on Chris. Your eyes flick toward him, starting to turn toward him when Piers punches at you. Drawing back, you drop down to sweep Piers feet out from under him.

“Guh,” Piers gasps, starting to roll to recover his footing when a soft click sounds from behind his head. He hears Chris curse as he slowly turns his head, looking up at you nervously. Your face doesn’t change, aiming the gun at the back of his head. When he turns his head to look at you, there is no trace of recognition for Piers.

“[Name], please. Don’t do this,” Chris calls from his cover. You simply blink at the sound, your eyes still trained on Piers. Exhaling through his nose, Piers looks up at you with a small smile.

“Hey, guess what?” He asks, watching as you cock your head to the side.

* * *

 

_“Do you think we’ll stay together?” you asked him, looking up from the bills in front of you. He bent over the chair you were in to press a kiss to your forehead, laughing as you tried to swat him._

_“Of course we will,” he said then._

* * *

 

“I love you,” he says now, closing his eyes and accepting whatever you do. There is a pause, then he hears Chris yell out and a gun shot. Opening his eyes, he watches in horror as you fall back with part of your head missing, blood and brain matter pouring on to the floor. Hesitantly, he crawls forward, looking at what is left of your face and the smoking gun in your hand. Abruptly, a child’s wail comes from a room over, startling the two men. Slowly, they make their way over, opening the door to what looks like a cell. A baby, swaddled in cloth, lays on it’s back in the middle of a hard cot, whining and squirming. Piers hurries over to check on the babe while Chris looks around the room.

“Hey, shh. Shh, it’ll be okay,” Piers tries to promise, fighting back his own tears as your suicide sinks in. Chris picks up a book, flipping through it before cursing softly. The baby opens it’s eyes, revealing the same color as yours while Chris turns to Piers gravely.

“Piers…” Chris starts, only to watch as Piers drops onto the cot. He stares at the baby in his arms with a combination of dread and awe. Seeming to finally see Piers, the baby laughs innocently and reaches up to him while Chris quietly says, “He’s yours.”


End file.
